


Shattered Sparks, Healing Hands (Ver. 1)

by teh_gelfling



Series: Shattered Sparks, Healing Hands [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Abuse, Kinkmeme, M/M, Slash, Slavery, Spark Sex, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teh_gelfling/pseuds/teh_gelfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kinkmeme! Prompt <a href="http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/10462.html?thread=11552734#11552734">here</a>.</p><p>First of two fills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered Sparks, Healing Hands (Ver. 1)

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.

"Aid! Get your aft over here and help me!" Ratchet roared over the noise in Medbay. Sideswipe lay on the operating table in front of the white medic, chest a mangled, twisted wreck. The rest of him was quite honestly in no better shape, having been caught in the crossfire between Megatron and Starscream and shot several times.

Sunstreaker sat stiffly on a berth across the room, bright optics watching intently as the medics worked feverishly over the red mech. His chassis was crisscrossed with cuts and covered in dents and plasma burns. His wounds slowly dripped energon and other fluids, but he was hardly in danger of deactivating soon, so was left to the mercies of triage.

Ratchet was silent while he worked, only speaking to give brief, terse orders to First Aid. All of his concentration was on the crimson warrior's spark chamber and attempting to repair it enough to stabilise him. The yellow Lamborghini continued to stare, off in his own world yet clearly worried sick over his brother.

One monitor warbled an alarm while another emitted a steady, unwavering tone. The CMO cursed violently and sent a massive shock through Sideswipe's frame in an attempt to kick-start his systems again.

Another.

And another.

The shrill tone kept sounding, and First Aid finally pulled away sombrely. "He's gone, Ratchet. There's nothing more we can do," he said softly, laying a gentle hand on the CMO's arm.

"No! If he dies, we'll lose Sunstreaker, too."

"Ratchet! He's already gone. Look at his spark chamber. Look at his frame! You can't save him! There's nothing to save!" Aid tugged the chief medic away from the greying corpse. "You can go try to keep Sunstreaker from dying as well, though."

Ratchet scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed after a moment of furiously staring down the junior medic. "I hate it when you're right." He moved off with the lumbering gait of a heavily burdened mech, optics dull and tired. Pained. It always hurt to lose a patient. It hurt even worse to lose the red hellion who—along with his brother—had somehow wormed his way into Ratchet's spark.

Sunstreaker sat stock-still on his berth, obviously in pain from the broken bond, staring blankly at his brother's body.

"Sunstreaker? I'm so sorry. I couldn't save him. I—I just couldn't." Guilt coloured his energy field, as well as bitter anger at himself for failing.

"Finally...," the mech sighed, his entire body relaxing. His optics reflected vast amounts of relief, and Ratchet couldn't help but wonder how he could possibly feel that way.

"Finally?" Ratchet snapped. "You almost sound happy that you just lost your twin."

"This is going to shock you," the golden mech responded quietly, "but he wasn't my twin. We weren't even related." Sunstreaker dropped his optics from the grey form across the bay, focussing instead on the medic beside him.

A pause, heavy with emotion, haunted cobalt optics locking with confused aqua, then dropping away in shame.

"He was my owner."

*****

Within an orn, the entirety of the Ark had heard that Sunstreaker had been a slave. While Sideswipe was now reviled by the general populace, many of the bots Sunstreaker had thrashed in the past still held grudges against the golden mech. Cliffjumper and several other minis especially.

Any time someone made a snide comment tailor-made to provoke a reaction, Sunstreaker buried himself in a datapad or, more often, left the room if he was able. He was clearly trying to avoid confrontations. Of course, this was interpreted as an open invitation to take shots at the warrior. Most anyone could see that the persecution was getting to him, but no one seemed willing to stand up for the volatile mech.

Cliffjumper was in full rant when Ratchet stepped into the commissary. One glance at Sunstreaker told him that the Lamborghini was about to blow. The datapad he held was quite clearly, even from a distance, cracked from the force of his grip on it.

"Cliffjumper!" Ratchet bellowed.

The entire room turned to stare at the medic. Not the least bit intimidated by the sudden attention, he continued, "I believe you have an appointment with Prowl."

"Pfft. Whatever." The red bot turned back to Sunstreaker.

"Now," Ratchet growled, suddenly looming over the little mech.

Cliffjumper shrank back almost imperceptibly, then straightened and sauntered to the door. "It's not like he can do anything to me, anyway. I wasn't breaking any of his precious rules." He glared at the yellow warrior once more before disappearing from the room.

The medic sent a brief comm to the tactician, warning him of the impending arrival, and appended a copy of the encounter. Sunstreaker had visibly relaxed at the departure. Ratchet sat in the chair across from him, sighing.

"Sometimes I'd really like to remove his vocaliser."

"Sometimes I wish you would." A tiny smile of thanks flitted across the handsome face.

"How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine." His optics told a different story. The CMO fixed him with a disbelieving look. "I really don't want to talk here."

"Yeah, I can see why." Mechs were still watching, some with surreptitious glances, others outright staring. "You want to talk somewhere else?"

"No," he said flatly. "But you're going to tell me it's good for me, and pester me until I do."

Ratchet looked mock-affronted. "I don't 'pester'," he said with a smirk. "I'm persistent."

Sunstreaker snorted. "Stubborn aft, more like. Fine. Let's go."

*****

"You want to know how I ended up with Sideswipe."

"Only if you want to tell me. We can talk about something else if you need to." Ratchet sat near Sunstreaker, but not close enough to crowd the mech.

The Lamborghini sighed, not really wanting to talk, and yet feeling almost compelled to. He didn't want to bear this burden alone any more. After a couple of false starts, he managed, "He was my lover at first. I thought he was the greatest thing on Cybertron. It didn't take him long to convince me to bond. Sparked salesmech, you know, better than Swindle." He gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "Primus, I was so naive. Thought it was 'true love'. So we bonded, and I found out exactly how wrong I was..."

*****

"Sides, I really don't want to do this," Sunstreaker intoned quietly. He warily studied the four mechs watching him hungrily. Four of Sideswipe's...customers.

"You do it for me all the time. What's the difference? Fragging is fragging. They made mention that they wanted you, and I told them they could have you—for a joor. So you belong to them right now." The red mech smiled. "Be good and do whatever they tell you. That's an order. I'll be back later to get you."

As soon as Sideswipe's back was turned, the largest mech had pushed Sunstreaker to the ground, following swiftly behind. He reeked of highgrade and stims. Before Sides even left the room, Sunstreaker's interface panel had been torn off and he was impaled on the thickest spike he'd ever seen.

As he screamed in pain, much to the apparent pleasure of the mech spiking him, he saw his owner glance back over his shoulder with a grin and a little wave. Then the door slid shut and the golden mech was on his own.

A second mech, much smaller, straddled his shoulders and forced his length into Sunstreaker's mouth. He thrust roughly, erratically, not even trying to match the rhythm of the first mech's movements. The yellow mech was beaten about the head when his body was jostled hard enough that his denta closed over the spike in his mouth.

"Primus-fraggin' glitch!" the mech hissed.

"Get it over with already. I want him," one of the other two complained.

"Slag off," came the answer in stereo.

Sunstreaker moaned. Blackness crept just at the edges of his vision, but refused to take him. He wished it would. At least then he wouldn't have to remember. How could Sideswipe do this? Let these dregs of the Pit use him like this?

Both mechs overloaded at nearly the same time. Thick transfluid scalded its way down his throat, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. The spike in his valve throbbed with every spurt, and he could feel it filling him up. He wanted to purge. To rid himself of the offensive fluids. To scour his plating until he felt clean again.

He wasn't sure he'd ever feel clean again.

The other two mechs got their turn after most of their allotted joor was gone. The leader—at least, Sunstreaker assumed he was in charge—had overloaded five times before he just couldn't get it up anymore. When he finally pulled out, a flood of silvery transfluid poured from the battered valve, mixed with the blue of energon blood.

Sunstreaker was made to lick the massive spike clean even as he was taken by the other two. He was turned over on his belly, his legs dislocated from the size of the first mech and splayed out awkwardly. One of the mechs turned out to be a femme, and she commanded the golden mech to extend his spike and frag her while her partner pounded the torn, dripping valve.

Sunstreaker felt the unwanted overload building in his frame. The slide of his spike in the femme's tight valve might have been pleasant under other, better circumstances, but as he'd had no choice in the matter, he just felt sick and ashamed. At least the spike in his own valve wasn't oversized this time. Not like he could feel much from it anyway right now. The pain receptors there had fritzed and shut down.

Sideswipe returned just before the joor was up. He leaned against the wall by the door and watched as the session came to a finish, stroking his own spike. He didn't bother to hide himself, either, as he accepted a datacard from the femme and checked it on his reader. With a brilliant smile, he bade the group goodbye.

"Well. You certainly made an impression. And some good credits." The crimson mech brandished the reader and beamed. "They've even said they want you again. Isn't that great, Sunny? Whiplash really seemed to have enjoyed himself." Eyeing the angles of his slave's legs, he mused, "Maybe a little too much. I'll have to set some ground rules next time."

A black hand stroked softly down Sunstreaker's shocked face. Sideswipe pulled him into a hard kiss, nipping his lip sharply to gain access to his mouth. "Mmm, Sunny..."

Sunstreaker barely felt the intrusion in his valve. Sideswipe pushed in as far as he could and held there. "I could stay like this forever, buried in you," he murmured. "Unfortunately, I have another meeting soon, so I can't take as much time as I'd like..."

*****

"Hmn. You really need to take better care of yourself, Sunny. Mechs are starting to complain you don't look as good as you used to. And honestly, they're right. Just a vorn ago,you'd never have let yourself go like this. Your finish is dull and you're even scuffed in places!" Sideswipe shook his head, anger in his optics.

"How are you supposed to attract mechs when you look like scrap? I give you one simple job, and you can't even do that right!" He backhanded the golden mech across the face, then slammed him against the wall. "I expect you to shine. Gleam, even. I want to be able to see my reflection in every bit of your plating. If I find one speck of dirt, one scratch, one scuff, I'll slag you and make you do it over again. Hear me?" he growled, optics flashing.

It wasn't an idle threat.

*****

Ratchet stared in open-mouthed horror, speechless for once. How he'd never realised the twins weren't really twins... And Sunstreaker had never let on about the abuse he was suffering.

"Stop staring like that," Sunstreaker grumbled, looking away.

The medic forced himself back to composure. "By the Allspark, how long did he do that?"

The Lamborghini dipped his helm in shame. "Until the day he died," he whispered. "Usually when we were on patrol. 'S why we always took the farthest sectors. Sometimes in battles. Not often, though."

"He sold you to 'Cons," Ratchet muttered, thoroughly disgusted. "And you couldn't say a thing. Primus on a fragging pogo stick."

Still refusing to look at the ambulance, Sunstreaker retorted, "Of course I couldn't say anything. I was ordered to keep everything to myself. I couldn't even talk to him about it unless he brought it up first, and gave permission."

Ratchet heard the self-loathing in those statements and reached out a hand to the yellow shoulder. "Don't you even think for a nano that any of this is your fault. Everything that's happened to you is squarely on Sideswipe's glitch-ridden head."

"And the fact that I chose him has no bearing on anything." Sunstreaker scowled at his hands. "I chose to bond with that... monster. I chose him, Ratchet! How is none of this my fault!?" He jumped up, agitated, and paced the small room.

"Well, first off," the medic started, "he was hardly honest with you. He took advantage of your apparent naivete. How old were you, anyway?"

"...A vorn from my adult frame," the golden mech admitted quietly after a moment. "We bonded right after my final upgrades. Slagger helped design my frame, then went and had slave code installed. He planned the entire thing from the moment he saw me. Everything he did and said was designed to draw me in."

Ratchet was quiet for a long while. Sunstreaker sat and fidgeted a bit, then eventually settled into a somewhat relaxed pose, optics downcast and dim.

"I'm sorry, Sunny," Ratchet said suddenly. "I should've realised a long time ago. I've seen your sparks often enough. I could've done something, kept you from going through at least some of that."

"What could you have done? You couldn't have proved the abuse without a memory scan, which you'd never have gotten permission for, and it wouldn't have even been my word against Sideswipe's. I couldn't say anything." He paused for a moment. "And anyway, you wouldn't have known from just seeing our sparks."

Ratchet looked directly into the frontliner's face, but Sunstreaker refused to look up from his hands. "I should have. There are differences in the sparks of bonded mechs and unbonded. Tiny, subtle ones, but differences nonetheless. And then there are differences between bonds. Spark-twin bonds are unique and very complex. Mate bonds are different and aren't quite as complicated. Slave bonds are simpler yet. I can't believe I never saw it!" He sighed heavily and laid a hand on those of the golden mech.

"Sunny, I don't want you blaming yourself over something you couldn't control. And don't," the medic hurried to add when Sunstreaker looked about to protest, "try to tell me you could have. Sideswipe was the ultimate 'silver-tongued devil', and everyone knew it. The only mech he really couldn't lie to was Prowl. Don't know how he knew all the glitch's tells, but he did.

"You can't be blamed for believing he loved you. Or for loving the mech you thought he was."

"What do you know!?" Sunstreaker shouted, rounding on Ratchet, optics blazing with pain and anger. "You can't understand! You don't know what it's like, not having any choice in what mechs you interface with. How you can't say no to anything a mech tells you to do! I hated it every single time. Even if I actually liked the particular mech." Golden fists clenched, their owner clearly trying to restrain himself from lashing out physically.

Ratchet remained silent throughout the tirade, watching the mech pace the small office. And when Sunstreaker stormed out, he didn't try to stop him. The Lambo was right. He had no frame of reference, nothing in his life to even come close to comparing.

He sat for a while, lost in his thoughts. His spark ached for the warrior. He vented heavily and finally turned to the reports he'd been putting off.

*****

Sunstreaker was in the lounge again when Ratchet found him. He was being completely ignored this time, even by Cliffjumper. His ubiquitous datapad was in hand, but this time he held a stylus also, and was scribbling on the face.

The golden warrior looked up at the medic's approach, optics clear of all the anger that had been in them yesterday. He offered a small nod of acknowledgement and returned his attention to his scribbles.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

"You're free to do whatever you want," came the quiet response. Though there was no inflection, no accusation, Ratchet winced. Sunstreaker must've been looking despite appearances, because he added, "I... didn't mean it like that..."

The medic waved it off as he sat. "It doesn't matter. You were right. I don't know, and I can't." He craned his neck to try to see the datapad. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Not sure scribbling on a 'pad quite qualifies as 'nothing', Sunny." Ratchet smirked.

"Nothing important, then." A huff.

"Important or not, I'm curious. Humour me."

"No." There was the tiniest of grins on the handsome mouth, just a slight quirk of the lips on one corner as the datapad was flipped over on the table, his hand holding it down. The warrior was enjoying his little game.

"Hmph. I didn't really want to see anyway."

Sunstreaker laughed. "Reverse psychology, Ratch'? And a really pathetic attempt, too. I thought you were above that."

"There's not much I won't try to get the results I want. And it probably would've worked on some mechs."

"Hey, doc! Just frag him already!" someone shouted from the minibots' table, to the laughter of his peers.

Ratchet's jaw clenched. Fear, along with something unidentifiable, flashed briefly in Sunstreaker's optics before he dropped them. He scratched at his datapad a few more times, then rose abruptly and quit the room.

The CMO stormed over to the table the minis were gathered at, fury radiating through his energy field. "Who?" he demanded, glowering at the most likely suspect. Cliffjumper. "What does it matter?" the red bot snapped, glaring right back. "Everyone knows you want to. Why else would you spend so much time with him? Not for his personality, that's for sure."

Ratchet snarled and let loose an audial-blistering list of Cliffjumper's composition and lineage in every language he knew. The little Porsche merely smirked through it, smug as anything.

"See? What'd I tell ya?" he said to the room at large when the medic wound down. "Overly defensive and not actually denying anything I said. He's got it bad."

Ratchet spluttered angrily, hands twitching. He headed for the door, knowing that if he stayed any longer, Cliffjumper would likely wind up a pile of parts.

"Maybe he's in denial," a different mech put in. "I mean, really, who would want to admit he's attracted to Sunstreaker of all mechs?" A chorus of agreement followed as the door slid shut behind him and he growled.

"Something wrong, Ratchet?" Prowl's clipped, professional tone came as the mech approached.

"Just... Cliffjumper being himself. I let him get to me." The medic sighed.

"I see. This wouldn't have anything to do with certain rumours flying around about you and Sunstreaker, would it?"

Ratchet groaned and turned to the wall, banging his forehelm on it. "Ow," he complained and came away rubbing his chevron. "Primus, Prowl, not you, too."

"It is a valid question. I overheard Bluestreak talking with a group of mechs about it. I don't believe any of them, and I won't unless confirmed by yourself. You know I don't pass them on."

"I know."

"I'll admit I'm quite impressed with the way Sunstreaker has been controlling himself in spite of Cliffjumper's behaviour. Perhaps there is more to him than previously seemed?" The SIC's face was the picture of innocence, but something in his tone told Ratchet he was fishing.

"Is that a subtle attempt at matchmaking?"

"Not at all. A mere observation. Though the fact that you asked might suggest that you do indeed see something more in him."

Ratchet scowled. He could have sworn the mech looked smug, as if he'd been proven correct on some point. And fraggitall, he was right. Somehow, Sunstreaker had worked his way into the medic's spark in quite a different way than before, without even trying.

"I see," the tactician said with the faintest of smiles in his optics. "Perhaps you should speak with him? He may reciprocate the attraction."

"Not likely, with everything he's been through. I'm surprised he still tolerates my company sometimes. Besides, it's only been a few months since he got his freedom back."

"You should speak with him anyway. Red Alert just pinged me with the content of your altercation with Cliffjumper. No doubt Sunstreaker is worried now. Possibly frightened, odd as it may sound. Speaking with him may put his processor at rest."

"You know, I never figured you to be the kind to meddle, Prowl."

The tactician chuckled. "Normally I wouldn't. However, you are my friend. Jazz is forever meddling in my affairs, attempting to set me up with certain mechs, and tells me that's what friends do. You, and Sunstreaker as well, deserve some happiness. At least try."

"You are a pain in the aft," Ratchet said, and left the amused tactician for his quarters.

*****

He stepped into his office, intent on the door on the other side and his sanctuary beyond. He could use a good night's recharge and a cube or two of high grade. Not necessarily in that order. There was a brightly-coloured figure sitting on his desk, however, and he stopped mid-stride in surprise.

"What are you doing here?"

Sunstreaker rose fluidly from his seat and advanced on Ratchet with a seductive smile. "I came to see you," he purred and traced the outline of the medic's windscreen with a forefinger.

Ratchet's processor stalled when the yellow mech pulled him into a searing kiss and ground their pelvic plates together. His cooling system kicked on with a roar as internal temps rose sharply in arousal, and the noise seemed to restart his higher processes.

"Primus! Sunstreaker!" he yelped, holding the mech at arm's length. "What's gotten into you?"

"Don't you want me?"

"Ohh, yes. No!" He back-pedalled furiously, the warrior following. "Not like this. I don't want a quick frag. You're worth much more than that..."

Sunstreaker smiled, satisfied, and moved back to sit on the desk again. "I'm glad you think so. Cliffjumper's an aft." He listened to the medic's agreement, then continued. "Sorry about that stuff a minute ago. I needed to know."

"I hope you got the answers you were looking for. I'm not keen on being surprised like that again," Ratchet groused.

Sunstreaker's face blanked and he rose from his seat. "I thought you were interested..." he muttered almost too low to hear.

The CMO froze and reset his audials. It almost sounded like the Countach had been planning on repeating his earlier actions at some other time. "What?"

"What does it matter? I was hoping you'd actually be interested. You find me on your off hours, then spend most of them with me. What was I supposed to think? I like your company. I thought you liked mine." The mech was nothing if not direct.

"Whoa, Sunny." Ratchet rubbed a hand over his face. "I do enjoy your company, but I don't want to rush you. It hasn't been that long—"

"It's been over a year, Ratchet. Almost two, in fact. I'm tired of living in the past, living under that shadow Sideswipe cast over me. I want a future."

"You have a future."

"With you?" Blue optics burned just a tad brighter and a quiet note of hope crept into the golden mech's voice.

"Don't understand why, but if that's what you really want." Ratchet smiled and reached out, pulling Sunstreaker close.

The handsome mouth twitched into a smirk. "Does that mean I can surprise you now?"

"Hmm. I guess it does."

"Good." He smiled wickedly and all at once attacked with lips and hands, glossa and fingers. Ratchet fell back against the wall under the onslaught, knees suddenly weak and vents roaring. "Want you."

With those husky words, Ratchet felt his spike pressurise behind its panel. What would it be like to have the warrior underneath him, writhing and crying out his designation as the medic thrust into him? Or maybe on top, riding Ratchet to overload? He moaned quietly into the mouth on his.

As quickly as he had started, Sunstreaker stopped. He didn't pull away, just stopped moving. Ratchet onlined his optics to see the mech looking at him with a sultry yet mischievous expression.

"So... where were you going? To recharge?" he asked conversationally.

Ratchet's systems whined. "I can think of better things to be doing right now than recharge, Sunny."

"Are you sure?" Sunstreaker grinned. "Recharge sounds pretty good."

"Absolutely. Those things do involve a berth, though. And maybe a wall. Or the floor." Ratchet pulled the frontliner's helm down to his and feathered kisses over his face and the vents on the sides. Sunstreaker gasped and purred at the contact.

"Okay. Problem," he panted. "No berth here. Wall, yes. Floor, yes. Even a desk. But no berth."

Ratchet chuckled. "Come with me," he whispered and led the golden mech around the desk to the door on the far side of the office. He punched in his code and the door slid aside. He tugged on the yellow hand in his, pulling Sunstreaker through the portal and into his quarters beyond.

"Oh. That's what's in here. Never paid any attention before, I guess. No wonder you never seemed to leave medbay." He looked around curiously. "Nice." His gaze landed on the berth, large enough for the two of them plus another. The thick, dense foam pad was covered with metalmesh so finely woven that it seemed to glitter in the low light. "Very nice."

"Problem solved." Ratchet stroked a transformation seam in the Lamborghini's side, fingers dipping inside to caress sensor clusters.

Sunstreaker dipped his helm to kiss Ratchet thoroughly, glossa slipping between parted lips to run along every surface of the medic's mouth. Arousal soared higher with every sensor node the red fingers touched until his circuits fairly sang with the charge. Ratchet's hand brushed lightly against the black interface panel and it opened immediately, the spike behind springing to full attention.

The ambulance eyed the shaft appreciatively as his own valve began to lubricate. Sunstreaker wasn't huge, but he was definitely above average. His spike was glossy black with decorative lines and whorls of gold along its length. Definitely custom. He traced one line from tip to base and watched Sunny shiver, optics offlined.

The underside was delicately ridged for the perfect amount of stimulation of a lover's valve. Ratchet stroked the spike, continuing to observe the golden mech's reactions. When Sunstreaker quickly reached out to steady himself on Ratchet's shoulders to keep his balance, the white mech steered him to the berth.

He sat heavily and pulled Ratchet down to sit on his lap, hands roaming the white and red frame. "Primus, Ratchet," he moaned. "Wanna feel you."

The red panel retracted, freeing Ratchet's spike and conveniently putting his valve in position over Sunstreaker's straining shaft. Yellow hands guided the medic down to envelop himself in wet heat and he let out a shuddering moan, which was echoed by Ratchet.

Sunstreaker was pushed down onto his back, allowing his spike to seat deeper within the ambulance. Ratchet rolled his hips, feeling every ridge on the slick, plush lining of his valve. He raised up, just a bit, and sank back down, relishing the slight stretch. He was full without being uncomfortable, and it was exquisite.

Sunstreaker's optics were shuttered and he wore an expression of intense concentration as the medic moved above him. "Sunny? You okay?" Ratchet asked, suddenly concerned.

"Mm." Golden hands had stilled on red hips.

Ratchet paused. "Sunny, look at me."

Pale optics opened but wouldn't focus on the white mech's face. His vents had picked up in what seemed to be arousal, but were now becoming shorter, shallower, faster.

His lust died rapidly as Ratchet's scanners picked up a spike in Sunstreaker's stress levels. He scrambled off of the mech and pulled him to a sitting position, pulsing his energy field in reassurance. The Countach shook his helm to try to focus himself.

"I'm okay," he rasped after a minute. "Come back here." A golden hand grasped the medic's wrist and tugged lightly, encouraging.

Ratchet gave Sunstreaker a measuring look. The panic was fading since he 'd given the warrior some space. A thought occurred. "Sunny, switch places with me."

Indigo optics flickered in surprise, but he complied, slipping off the berth to let Ratchet settle into place. Red hands immediately reached for the Lamborghini, seeking that proud spike. Fingertips danced over the sensitive metal skin, causing a surge in Sunstreaker's energy field.

Air whooshed out of the medic's vents as his back hit the berth with an amorous frontliner pressing into him. Large hands skimmed over white plating, firing sensors. Ratchet squirmed under the assault, trying to get his hips into position.

Sunstreaker felt wet heat on the tip of his spike and he thrust sharply, drawing a hiss from his partner when he hit the edge of his opening. He reluctantly pulled one hand away from Ratchet's windscreen to guide himself into that welcoming valve, groaning loudly as the lining parted around his girth.

There was still a tension to the golden mech's field, but it was nowhere near as pronounced as it had been with Ratchet on top of him. The medic filed that information away absently, to be taken into consideration in future encounters. Right now he just wanted to enjoy the slide of the spike in him and the lover he never thought he'd have.

*****

"Ratchet?" Sunstreaker sounded uncertain as he propped himself up on his elbow next to the medic.

"Hmm?" Ratchet lazily turned his helm to look at his sparkmate, noting the apprehension behind the sated expression. Whatever the golden mech had to say was important and the CMO gave him his full attention.

"I think... want... Ratch, we've been together for vorns now. I-I love you. Would—will you—" He paused and vented deeply. "Will you bond with me?" he asked in a rush, as if afraid the words wouldn't come out.

Ratchet's spark surged at Sunstreaker's admission, as it did every time he said it. He'd wanted to bond with the warrior for some time now, but wasn't about to push it. Sunstreaker wouldn't talk about his previous bonding experience with Sideswipe, and that told Ratchet that it was pretty awful. He'd come to terms with the fact that they'd likely never bond, so to hear his lover ask was pretty damn amazing.

"What brought this on?" Ratchet smiled to soften the question. Sunny was still fairly touchy about certain things. Being questioned was one.

"I just—I'm ready. I want this. I want you—forever. Please, Ratch." Optics burned brightly in the dim light of their quarters, eager for the medic's answer, yet afraid of it as well.

Ratchet shifted around so he was facing his mate and rested a hand on the golden chestplate, just over the spark. He caressed the armour there and leaned forward to kiss the warrior. What started out as simply expressing his love quickly turned heated and Sunstreaker moaned quietly into Ratchet's mouth.

"So... is that a 'yes'?" he asked a bit breathlessly when the kiss broke.

"Of course. Do you want a ceremony, or just do it?"

"I'm not big on ceremony. You know that. I don't care if no one else knows we're bonded, and I don't want everyone staring at me." Sunstreaker frowned a bit at the thought.

Ratchet chuckled. "I didn't think so, but I thought I'd throw it out there anyway. When—"

"Now," the golden mech interrupted. "But I have to show you something first."

The medic nodded. He figured he knew what it was, and he prepared himself. Sunny offered a datacable and Ratchet opened his primary data port, allowing his lover to link up.

Sunstreaker's field was awash in fear and apprehension. Relief, too, that he was finally ready to share the pain of this memory. As their systems synchronised, he murmured, "I hope this won't change your mind."

Ratchet caressed his mate's cheek. "I don't think there's anything that would make me back out of bonding with you, Sunny. I've waited a long time for this."

And then their systems were synced and Ratchet was pulled into Sunstreaker's world.

*****

//What is this?// Ratchet asked, even though he was already recognising the situation.

//My 'bonding'.//

"Primus, you're beautiful, Sunny. Perfect. Those techs did an amazing job with your upgrades." Sideswipe ran his hands over freshly-painted plating, admiring the gleam of the golden-yellow finish. "How 'bout we break in this new frame of yours?" he said with a lascivious grin.

Sunstreaker's engine growled in response, and he pulled the crimson mech closer to him. Sideswipe grabbed his lover's aft as he ground against him and his lips found those of his partner. Sunstreaker's core temp rose rapidly at the dance of nimble black fingers over sensitised plating and his vents picked up.

Ratchet felt his own core temperature jump and tried to get his reactions under control. He half-succeeded, and sent an apology to his sparkmate.

Sunstreaker barely acknowledged it, too caught up in his own thoughts. The part of his processor that wasn't replaying the memories was a maelstrom of emotion. Anger and shame were most prevalent, but there was still a sliver of love there underneath the hatred. And much as he didn't want to admit it, there was lust there, too.

The memory skipped ahead, starting up again with the sight of Sideswipe's spark. Though Ratchet had seen it many times before during repairs, this time he marvelled at its beauty along with the memory-Sunstreaker.

The crimson mech leaned closer, closing the gap between their faces, kissing Sunstreaker passionately. Their sparks touched and the younger mech in-vented sharply, pressing closer to strengthen the contact. Sideswipe's entire being lay open to him and he revelled in it.

Sideswipe began weaving his spark energies among Sunstreaker's, creating a tentative bond, which would grow stronger the more he worked. Once the bond between their sparks solidified enough, though, Sunstreaker felt a change in his lover.

Gone was the loving, charismatic, vivacious mech he knew. In his place was a cold, calculating, manipulative sociopath. Sunstreaker felt a hardline connection being forged and threw up his strongest firewalls.

Sideswipe battered at them for a klik, then retreated with a sense of smugness about him. The next thing Sunstreaker knew, the firewalls had been hacked and lowered without his consent, and Sideswipe was rooting around in his base coding, obviously looking for something.

Victory rolled over the connection when Sides found a line of code and activated it. Text scrolled up Sunstreaker's HUD, too fast to follow. He did manage to catch the last line before it winked out.

Sideswipe. Designation: Master.

Anger boiled through Ratchet, hot enough to draw Sunstreaker's attention from his thoughts and jerk them out of the memory.

//It's okay, Ratchet,// the golden mech murmured. //He can't hurt me any more. I'm done with him.//

//Then why are you showing me this?//

//Because I need to. I need to show you how much I trust you. Love you.//

The memory picked back up where it had left off.

Sunstreaker's processor railed against the new coding. He pushed Sideswipe away violently, thoroughly disgusted and betrayed. He advanced, intent on giving the crimson mech a beating. Sideswipe just smirked at him and waited.

As soon as the golden fist flew, Sideswipe calmly said, "Stop."

And he did.

Just like that, without his own control, he just... stopped. His body locked up, knuckles a bare centimetre from Sideswipe's nose. The mech looked utterly confident and unconcerned in the face of Sunstreaker's wrath.

"You will never attempt to harm me again. That is your first and primary order. Do you know what happens to slaves who disobey their masters?" His smirk grew. "Hmm, I don't suppose you do. Shall we have a demonstration, then? Hit me."

The two conflicting orders waged war inside him. His desire to rip apart the other mech eventually tilted the scale in favour of walloping Sideswipe. Upon contact, his body turned against him. Electricity crackled unchecked through the golden frame, burning out circuits and making him jerk in pain. He fell to the ground, still spasming, tiny wisps of smoke wafting up from between gaps in his armour.

"Enough. Get up."

The pain stopped, though a dull ache remained. He found himself on his feet, looking directly into Sideswipe's ice-cold optics.

"Open your armour and your spark chamber. We weren't done."

Sunstreaker felt his armour parting and tried to stop it. Sharp, fiery pain flared briefly, then subsided when he gave in. Sideswipe smiled, but there was no warmth in it. It was as cold as his optics.

Sparks were brought together again, Sunstreaker struggling to keep the bond from taking further hold. Sideswipe laughed in his mind.

"Fight all you want, love. You can't stop it. You're mine, frame and spark, for eternity. We'll never be apart."

Ratchet looked on, disgusted, as the bond was finalised. It was far more complicated than a typical slave bond, nearly to the point of a legitimate twin bond, which was likely the reason he hadn't recognised that Sunny had been a slave. Sideswipe really had thought of everything.

Sunstreaker wrapped his presence around Ratchet, soothing the medic for a change. The memory continued, the memory-Sunstreaker instructed to perform various, increasingly unpleasant tasks as the memory-Sideswipe tested the depth of his control.

//That's enough. More than,// Ratchet said, much sharper than intended.

//Ratchet...//

//No! Sunny, I can't watch him degrade you like that!// He briefly directed attention back to the scene playing around them. //It's—it's...// he floundered for a word to describe what he thought of the situation. //It's reprehensible, and I honestly don't think that's strong enough.//

Sunstreaker flooded the connection with love, smoothing over the medic's prickling field with his own. The memory was shut down, relief zipping through both mechs as they disconnected their systems.

"So... Do you still want to bond with me?"

Ratchet tackled the frontliner to the berth, groping whatever plating came to hand. "You really have to ask?"


End file.
